


My Therapist Said...

by mother_finch



Series: My Therapist Said... [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: RootxShaw prompt- Root and Shaw are together and go undercover to couples therapy to keep an eye on their new number a couples therapist. They get a couple jabs in at each other when they were asked "What annoys you about your wife?" But then they have a true moment of taking about their feelings when asked "What are five things that make you love your wife?" Then after the feelings talk they go badass and stop the people trying to kill their number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Therapist Said...

_Whose great idea was this, again?_ Shaw fumes, walking down the dense city street. All around, people hustle by. Jobs to go to, classes to go to, interviews to go to-  _but where do I have to go to? Therapy._  Looking to her right, she takes in the dark wavy hair, pale skin, white blouse, and maroon pencil skirt of the woman beside her.  _With Root_. Looking down at her own attire, she acknowledges with satisfaction that she is dressed much more casually.

 _'Sam, please,'_  Root had begged endlessly for the first half of the morning.  _'We need to look like we're going to a clinic.'_

 _'I can do that in jeans,'_ she’d spit back in annoyance. It was bad enough she had to go to therapy, but in a dress? _No thanks._  Harold didn’t seem pleased with Shaw’s grudging cooperation, but didn’t push her.

 _This was probably his idiot-idea_ , Shaw seethes, feeling her hands clench into fists. Looking back at Root, she feels an unease in her stomach.  _Did it have to be the two of us?_  She thinks of how things were between them-  _but how are they, truly?_  She doesn’t know, doesn’t care to know.

* * *

 

Coming to the large, Roman-style building, Shaw grabs hold of one of the glass doors’s handles, yanking it open. She holds it, waiting impatiently for Root to walk through.

"I’m so lucky to have a wife like  _you_ ,” Root says with a doting voice and affectionate smirk. Shaw rolls her eyes, letting go of the door and walking through alone. They step inside, instantly hit with that chill that comes standard in all lobbies, and peer around. Their shoes click on marble floors, as they walk up to a clerk behind a mahogany desk. The desk connects to the wall, wood matching the strips of it that make up the walls.

"How may I help you?" The clerk says, a strained kindness in his voice.

"Sameen and Root Grey," Root says, shooting an amiable look Shaw’s way, placing a hand delicately on her shoulder. "Four o’clock." As the man scrolls on a computer screen, Shaw feels her muscles winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

"Sameen  _Grey_?” Shaw growls under her breath. “We running low in the alias pool?”

"Most believable ID is a real one, Sweetie," Root replies silently, eyes soft as they slide over to look at her. Shaw rolls her eyes, looking back to the clerk.

"Dr. Venus will be with you shortly. Please," he gestures to the grouping of lush lounge chairs. "Take a seat."

Smiling, Root turns on her heel, walking to the closest, miniature sofa. Shaw plops down, leather of the chair icy on her skin. Root smooths down her skirt, then sits down on the other side of it. She leans her elbow on the arm rest, resting her head on her hand as she watches Shaw. Feeling eyes on her, Shaw turns her head stiffly.

"There is an entire  _room_  of chairs to choose from,” Shaw says with deadly silence. “Couldn’t you have sat  _anywhere_  else?” Root lets her eyes do the chastisement, a small but smug smile coming to her face. Shaking her head, Shaw looks away, fingers tapping against the tops of her legs.

Dr. Venus. A renowned couples- _yes couples_ \- therapist in his field. Ten years on the job, and every client has left satisfied.  _Sorry to break his winning streak,_  Shaw thinks with a cruel, inner laugh.  _But there’s no way in Hell he could bring me to terms with Root._

She feels fingertips brush her ear, and jumps, head whipping around. Root isn’t leaning on her arm any longer, but rather ducking in closer to Shaw. She proceeds to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Shaw’s ear, but she slaps it away heatedly, feeling her cheeks begin to redden.

"Don’t  _do_  that,” Shaw commands shortly, heart hammering.  _Why is it doing that?_  She thinks with annoyance. Root’s face is close, large, brown eyes radiant, as a devilish smirk plays on her face.

"Why not?" She coos in a tone that catches Shaw’s breath. Root, hand hit down, slides over and takes one of Shaw’s. "We’re married, now, remember?" She refers to the mission, their cover as a married couple, and Shaw gives her a sinister smile.

"That’s the great part about  _couples_  counseling,” she replies in a crude but satisfactory tone. “It’s for  _dysfunctional_  couples.” Ripping her hand away, she shoots daggers at Root before turning her head in the opposite direction. She keeps her hands in her lap, left hand rubbing at the right one- the one Root had. She feels that unease creep back into her stomach, a fluttering sensation that makes a shiver run down her spine.  _Is this what people call butterflies?_  She wonders, disgruntled.  _It’s awful._

"Greys?" A voice calls out, and Shaw springs to her feet. The tension wound far too tight in her, she feels the need to accumulate space between herself and Root. Looking for its source, Shaw’s eyes fall on a woman with almond skin and dark, oval eyes. Her black hair is cut in a short bowl around her head, and she wears a snappy skirt and suit jacket, clip board in hand. The woman smiles at her. "Dr. Venus will see you now."

________\ If Your Number’s Up /________

"I’m Mia," the secretary tells Shaw, hovering extremely close as they walk down the thin hallway. Root is behind the two of them, trying to push in, but finding it impossible. "What’s your name?"

"Sameen. Sameen Grey; shouldn’t you, uh, know that?" She asks, head gesturing to the chart. Mia smiles, cheeks blushing.

"I mean, I  _knew_ , but I thought it’d be polite to ask.”

"I’m Root," Root cuts in with a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. Mia’s eyes flicker with annoyance before falling back on Shaw in adoration.

"Do you live around here?" Mia asks Shaw, ignoring Root entirely. Shaw can feel the anger radiating from her, and smiles pleasantly at Mia.

"Not too far off," Shaw replies, being sure to have a sociable disposition. "An apartment a few blocks away." Mia nods, a pearly smile coming to her face.

"I’d love to see it some time," she says, leaning in towards Shaw.

” _Sorry_ ,” Root cuts in with hostility lacing her words. “We don’t really let  _strangers_  into our home.”

"Come  _on_ , Root,” Shaw says, eyes on Mia. “She’s no  _stranger_.” The three of them stop at a thick wooden door. It’s closed, and no sound seems to escape it.

Mia smiles at her sweetly, then she angles her head down secretively. “And maybe as a thank you, I can show you mine.” Shaw’s jaw drops slightly, unable to keep her sheer amusement in this surprising character contained.

"You  _do_  realize she’s  _married_ , right?” Root deadpans, voice boiling over with jealously, and Mia finally acknowledges her presence.

"If the two of you are  _here_ , it can’t be going  _that_  well,” she responds dryly, pushing open the door. Root brushes past her, using every once of restraint not to check her on the way in. Shaw follows, and Mia closes the door. They both stand, listening as her heeled footsteps travel back down the hall. Looking around, Root takes in the contrast of this room to the rest of the building.

The walls are coated in a deep green wallpaper, floor a lush, beige carpet, with one leather sofa facing a large, plush chair. Between them is a small coffee table holding three teaming mugs. From the far wall, an older man comes forward, walking away from an enormous book case. He wears a red and yellow sweater vest with a white turtleneck underneath, and army-green pants. He’s balding, with white hair rimming the edges and a small goatee. His rectangular glasses seem to enlarge his sapphire eyes, and they sparkle with life.

"What can I help you with?" He asks, as if he’s known them for years. "Or, rather, is there anything I can help you with first?"

"You can get a new secretary," Root grumbles, and his brow furrows.

"Well, ah, why don’t the two of you take a seat?" He gestures with both hands to the sofa, claiming the single chair for himself.

Shaw moves first, body casual but eyes cold and calculating as she sits down, resting her forearms on her legs. Root comes around the sofa, sitting to the right of Shaw. She sits close, dangerously close, allowing their hips to brush with every slight movement. With each, a jolt of electricity shoots through Shaw, making it impossible for her to clearly focus.

” _So_ ,” Dr. Venus starts off, clasping his hands together. “The two of you have been having trouble?”

"Things have been pretty  _tense_  lately,” Root says in a harsher tone, eyes on Shaw- letting her know she hasn’t forgotten about her little flirt session outside. Shaw barely suppresses a smirk.

"I see. And what do you think could be causing that?" Root looks around the room, eyes lost in thought.

” _Maybe_ … work?” Root says, and Dr. Venus nods.

"And how about you, ah, Sameen?" Sameen’s eyes focus in on him, not changing their icy cover.

"Honestly, doc? I don’t think we need to be here."

” _Interesting_ ,” he muses, stroking his goatee. “And why is that?”

"I’m more of the divorce-if-it-doesn’t-pan-out type," she responds blandly, gaze directed at Root. Dr. Venus’s eyes cast with confusion and worry, seemingly meeting his match.

"Then tell me, why did you agree to come here?"

 _I didn’t_ , she seethes,  _I didn’t agree to this, I was forced into this._  Root looks over at her, face serious but eyes sparking with childish fun.

” _Yes_ , Sam, why  _did_  you agree to come here?”

"How could  _anyone_  say no to  _you_ ,” Shaw sneers, false sweetness dripping from her every word as she rolls her eyes, looking back to the therapist. He looks between the two of them fretfully, then takes a deep breath.

"Do you mind if I back pedal slightly?" He asks, and neither object. "How did the two of you meet?"

 _Well, Dr. V, it all started when she tased me_ , Shaw fumes in her mind. Root shifts beside her, and another jolt of electricity flies through her nerves, making her drop the thought entirely. Root crosses her legs, ankle now leaning against Shaw’s leg, and her left hand grips the couch’s edge.

"We crossed paths during work one day," Root tells him with a social air, then- turning to Shaw- her tone becomes more affectionate. "One of my better days." Shaw peeks over at her quickly, then forces herself to maintain eye contact with Dr. Venus.

"And how long did you two know each other before courting?"

"A couple years," Root answers with a smile, Mia seeming to leave her mind entirely.

"And marriage?"

"Not long after that," Root replies. She extends her hand slightly towards the one on Shaw’s leg, but- seeing it coming- Shaw brings it quickly to her head, patting back her hair before crossing it over the far side of her body. Root returns her hand to its previous location, looking around somewhat sheepishly.  _I’m gonna snap if she does that,_  Shaw thinks to herself, mind reeling.  _It’s bad enough she’s this close._  She tries to make the jump in her heart stop, but finds it impossible.

"I see. So tell me, how is your sex life."

Both women look at him, eyes wide in bewilderment, silent as mimes.

” _Excuse_  me?” Shaw asks indignantly.

"You’d be surprised," he says in a knowing tone. "Unsatisfactory behavior in bed can be a key factor in relationship tension."

"Yeah, Sweetie, maybe  _that’s_  our problem,” Root says with a smirk, and Shaw sends her a look that could kill.

"No. Next question."  _And make it quick_ , she adds to herself,  _before I let whoever’s after you slide by._

"Well, actually, that’s it for questions. I have an exercise for the both of you. Now, I want you two to look at each other- go on." Root turns her body on the couch, facing Shaw fully. After a moment of hateful staring in his direction, Shaw grudgingly replies.

"Good, good," he says encouragingly. "Now, answer this: What annoys you about your wife?"

” _What_?” Shaw asks, brow furrowing as she faces him. “I’m not gonna-“

” _Please_ , answer to each other. Pretend I’m not here.”

 _This man is insane_ , Shaw spits fire for words, eyes hard on Root’s. They are devastatingly close, but Shaw can barely notice through all the flustered flames raging inside her.

"The way you don’t take important things seriously." Shaw’s eyes trade their previous emotion for one of surprise.  _Did Root just?_

"What is  _that_  supposed to mean?” Shaw fires back angrily.

"How about not dressing up this morning like I asked," Root responds, but in her eyes, Shaw can tell that that is not the ‘important things’ she is talking about. It’s something deeper than that.

"Your foreplay," Shaw counters, a smirk in her eyes.

” _Oh_?” Root asks with a smirk of her own, trying to hide it but only partially succeeding. “How about… your stubbornness?”

Shaw scoffs. “I barely see that as a nuis-“

” _Please_ ,” Dr. Venus cuts in, “let her speak.”

"Yes, Sam, let me  _speak_ ,” Root’s eyes glow with smugness, and Shaw narrows her eyes.

"How you’re constantly agreeing with  _him_ ,” Shaw remarks, gesturing with a thumb to the therapist.

"The way you try to get on my nerves," Root says, eyes having recollections of Thomas and Mia.

"Oh,  _please_ ,” Shaw laughs. “Don’t act like  _you_  don’t do it too.”

"I see- I see you have a  _lot_  on that subject,” Dr. Venus says shakily, eyes indecisive of where to look. “Let’s- let’s move on to the next exercise. Still to each other, answer this: What are five things you love about your wife?”

 _Five?_  Shaw thinks with an inner groan.  _I have to come up with five things about Root?_  She begins to think, less than pleased with this task; however, as she looks at Root, mind sifting things through, she grows haunted. _There are a lot of things._  Things she wouldn’t even admit to herself seemed to start popping into her head, and she swats then away peskily.

"I love… your smiles," Root tells her, honesty in her voice. Shaw feels on edge, everything screaming that she is far too exposed, as if her coat of armor has been torn away. "The real ones- the ones that will just come to your face without you doing it on purpose. Like when you look at Bear, or when you find something amusing, and sometimes because of me."

 _Shit_ , Shaw thinks, eyes lost in Root’s.  _Shit_.

"I uh, I-," she chokes, "Your hair."

"My  _hair_?” Root confirms quizzically.

"Yeah. It’s uh, it’s nice." Root tilts her head to the side, eyes slightly showing disappointment, but Shaw lets a quaint smile envelope her features.  _A smile I would usually hide_ , she thinks to herself, second guessing her decision,  _but it’s too late now_. “Like now. How it, you know,” Shaw brings her hand up, but drops it quickly. “It kinda just cascades to the side when you tilt your head. And it- just- always- it suits you. It’s nice.” She closes her mouth tight, not knowing where she was going, nor the words to get her there. Root looks down quickly to mask the bashfulness flaming in her cheeks. Once she looks up, she has completely recovered, save for a bright sparkle in her eyes.

"Your appetite."

” _Really_?” Shaw can’t help but laugh at what she finds exceedingly ridiculous.

"Yeah," Root replies with a smile. "It’s funny how excited you can get, and how much  _food_  seems to please you. You light up a bit, and it’s good to see you that way.”

Shaw feels her fingers twisting, uncomfortable and uncertain.  _Is this just for the mission?_ She thinks to herself, feeling confused. S _he seems sincere, but that doesn’t mean she not just playing the part._  Her mind swirls, and she’s unsure how to stop the spiral.  _She’s waiting._  Shaw’s mind snaps back into reality, seeing Root’s face close, open- waiting.

She takes a look over at Dr. Venus, who is studying the two of them carefully. When he sees her eyes on him, he gives an encouraging smile. A variety of things rush through her head, not sure which to say. Which will seem like the mission and nothing more.  _There can’t be anything more_ , she tells herself sternly.  _Can there?_

She looks back to Root, something clicking in her head.  _I think she’s serious._ Balling up her courage, she leans over, mouth coming close to Root’s ear. She feels the blood pumping like a gutter in a downpour, hoping Root can’t notice. But Shaw soon realizes she hears double the noise. With her mouth that close, her ear is only a short distance away from Root’s face, and she can hear Root’s breathing. From any other distance it would be normal- inaudible- but from here it is a freight train, making everything harder to say.

"I love… how you are with a gun," Shaw whispers into her ear, not wanting Dr. Venus to hear this part.  _God forbid he asks us for some sort of gun license_ , she thinks to herself. “Any gun, really.” She can feel Root smile, cheek bone almost brushing Shaw’s face. She feels her pulse racing, and finds it harder and harder to remain calm with each passing second. “And codes. I mean, it’s a little  _dorky_  for my taste, but..” Shaw allows herself a brief smile, glad Root can’t see it. She swallows, becoming more serious now. “What are we  _doing_ , Root?” She asks, and can feel Root’s body grow taut on the couch. Root waits a minute, almost answering.

"We’re being  _rude_  to Dr. Venus,” she replies, giving a forced, kind smile his way as she brings her hands to Shaw’s shoulders, easing her back to a seated position. Shaw’s nerves explode at the touch, and she can’t help the catch in her breath. Dr. Venus looks at them both, worried.

"Is there something wrong?" He asks, a smile barely holding to his old face.

"No," Root replies, a sweet joy in her voice. "Just a little chat between us." He nods, calming down.

"So, Samen," he says, clearing his throat. "Tell us-  _her_ \- something.”

"How you act when your jealous," Shaw says, a smug smirk on her face. Root narrows her eyes.

"Jealous?"

"Yeah, it’s fun- seeing you like that." Root raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t argue the point further.

"I love your similes. Metaphors- anything like that," she stops, turning to Dr. Venus. "Sam can be  _quite_  poetic.”

Shaw snorts. “Poetry is  _dead_.”

"Then you must be some sort of angel," Root quips back, and Shaw falls silent, not meeting her eyes. Dr. Venus watches them both, thoroughly intrigued at the pair before him.

"How impulsive you can be," Shaw states, finding the words rolling more easily off of her tongue now. "This idea one minute, a completely different one the next. I really never know with you."

"All the things that annoy about you," Root counters with a smirk, and Shaw meets it evenly.

"Goes for me too."

Suddenly, they seem extremely close. Looking down, Shaw realizes both of them have leaned in, going back and forth in this like some sort of competition, not noticing they went from a foot to an inch. At the same time it becomes evident to them, and they sit straight up again quickly. After a moment, Root clears her throat.

"Last one," she says, eyes on her hands. She looks up, eyes deep and unreadable. "I.. love.. y-"

_____________\ We’ll Find You /_____________

There is the sound of a gun in the lobby, and people scream. Dr. Venus jumps to his feet.

"Stay here," he instructs, heading to the door. Shaw stands, Root right on her heels, as they both protrude their guns.

"No, I think  _you_  should stay here,” Root replies cynically, and his eyes widen in fear.

"You- you’re- you’re in on this- this  _heist_?!” He bellows, eyes glued to the barrel of the gun.

"Not a heist," Root replies with the crinkle of her nose.  _That’s another thing_ , Shaw finds herself thinking. She scolds herself wickedly, forcing herself to focus. “A murder. Presumably yours,” she informs him, and he gasps.

"You want to kill  _me_?” He asks, astonished.

"If we wanted to kill you," Shaw says with a neutral tone, "we would have done it already." His eyes become saucers, mouth hanging slightly agape.

"We’re here to  _protect_  you,” Root informs him, giving a sidelong glance to Shaw. “Hard as that may be to believe.”

"Married vigilantes," he says in a hushed awe. "Why I  _never_ -“

"Not married," Root says with a shrug of her shoulders. Turning her gaze to Shaw, she adds, "Maybe  _that’s_  why couple’s counseling wasn’t working.”

"I’m only here to shoot things," Shaw replies, and Root gives her a dazzling smile.

"Sorry to waste the session," Root says, words directed back to Dr. Venus.

” _Not_  a  _couple_ ,” he muses, not seeming to hear much more than those words. “Out of all the patients I’ve had, the two of you seem the  _most_  compatib-“

The door is kicked in, and Dr. Venus flies back, arms flailing, into the back wall. Two men in ski masks barge in, and Shaw and Root easily take them down.

” _Bye-bye_ ,” Root says to him, shooting him a radiant smile.

"We’ll recommend you to some of our friends," Shaw offers, stepping over the two bodies to walk out the door. "They aren’t the best at maintaining relationships either." With that, the two escape, walking down the long hall with guns drawn. Root walks straight ahead, two guns raised and ready for action. Shaw walks, back nearly against hers, covering the rear for any unwanted surprises.

Coming into the lobby, Shaw spins around, seeing a man wielding a machine gun, swinging it around haphazardly. His eyes lock to hers at the same time, and his finger descends on the trigger. Root is looking elsewhere, firing and hitting the man at the front door. Shaw opens fire, then ducks.

” _Oof_!” Root feels the wind knocked out of her, hitting the the marble flat on her back. There is a weight pressing down on top of her, and the sound of rapid machine gun fire. The top of a couch seems to explode, its fluff dusting her face. She shakes her head to be rid of it, finally taking in her surroundings.

 _Behind a couch_ , she sees, looking to the right. Looking up slightly, she sees bullet holes torn through. When her head straightens all the way, she freezes.  _I’ve found the weight_. Shaw’s laying on top of her, hands on either side of Root’s head, breathing slightly labored. Her face is close, and her hair plays at Root’s left ear.

"Well, isn’t  _this_  romantic,” she says with dark eyes and a smirk to match. Shaw merely rolls her eyes.

"It was either this or swiss cheese." The gunfire continues, circling the room, and the two stay motionless, barely breathing. "So," Shaw says at last, devilish smile creeping to her face. "What was that last thing you were going to say back there? You never got to finish." Root’s face turns up in a half smile.

"I’ll save it for another time," she replies secretively, rolling so that Shaw falls away. Kneeling up, she points both guns at the shooter, letting off six shots. All hit their mark, and he drops like a stone.

Together, they wait, hearing nothing but silence. Then, a single police car rolls in, siren blaring. A second later, two very familiar detectives stroll through the door, hands on their guns just in case.

"Kind of you to show up, gentlemen," Root says with a smile, standing. She pushes her hair down, feeling it rowdy and out of place. "But we just finished up."

"How was counseling?" John asks with an amused, quaint smile, and Shaw stands, brushing wild hair from her eyes.

"Looks like it went  _well_ ,” Fusco remarks, taking in the women’s disheveled appearance. Shaw sends him a cross look.

"Keep your fantasies to  _yourself_ , Lionel.” He smirks, turning away towards the man with the machine gun, handcuffs drawn.

"You two get out of here," John tells them, walking forward. "We’ll clean up."

"He’s in room 130," Root tells him, and he heads off.

"Sameen?" Root stiffens at the voice, and Shaw looks around for its source. From behind the counter, a black-haired head peeks up, dark eyes darting back and forth fretfully. Shaw looks to Root, her eyes already on Shaw. They share a look that reveals no emotion on either end. Finally, Shaw sighs, stepping forward.

Root watches her walk over to the desk, leaning against it on her elbows, and Mia stands.

"You alright?" Shaw asks once Mia comes to a complete, upright position. She nods, body trembling slightly.

"Do- do you uh- shoot people often?" She asks, a chuckle in her voice. Shaw gives her the beginning of a smile.

"When the job permits."

"Does the job permit for coffee?" She gives Shaw an open, hopeful look.

"Can’t," Shaw says with the shrug of her shoulders, walking backwards away from the counter. "Like Root said: married." Mia’s face drops, as Shaw turns, starting for the door. Root falls into step beside her, eyes glowing.

"Did you  _really_  tell her that we’re  _married_?” She asks, an air of satisfaction in her words. Shaw looks to her from the corner of her eye.

"No, I told her that  _I’m_  married,” she corrects, and Root smirks.

"Isn’t that the same th-"

"To the  _job_ , Root,” Shaw remarks defensively, only fueling Root’s fire.

"I can wait," she responds affectionately.

"Yeah, well don’t hold your breath," Shaw grumbles, pushing open the door.


End file.
